


in the corner, taking up space

by couldaughter



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Kissing, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Temporary Character Death, Vague Legalese
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:47:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23056483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/couldaughter/pseuds/couldaughter
Summary: Matt looked just like he had the last time Foggy had seen him, in a plain grey suit and wearing his last pair of glasses. He’d been talking about calling in a new pair when the dust started rising from his shoulders.
Relationships: Matt Murdock/Franklin "Foggy" Nelson
Comments: 10
Kudos: 154





	in the corner, taking up space

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kathrynjaneways](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathrynjaneways/gifts).



> for chloe and katy, of the nelson's yeets groupchat

Back at Columbia, when Foggy felt like the whole world (or at least the Landman & Zack internship) lay at his feet, he’d written up a five year plan. His supervisor had been pestering him about it for most of the year by that point, going on about how it would be a great scaffold for the beginning of his professional career.

It probably would’ve been, if Matt hadn’t convinced him to start a no-hope firm of their own. A no-hope firm which, five years after half the world’s population turned to dust, was barely holding together.

“Morning,” said Foggy, pushing the door with his shoulder like he did every day. The top corner kept sticking for some reason, the wood of the door warped beyond repair.

Karen barely looked up from her desk. “Hi, Fog,” she said. Her hair was only just starting to grow out from the bob she’d given herself in the office bathroom mirror, jagged at the ends and sticking out in all directions. “You see the news?”

“I try not to,” he replied, sliding onto his desk chair and spinning a few times, idly. It was important to have a little fun every day, even when it felt like a chore. “Anything good?”

“We got a shout out,” she said, handing him her phone. It was open to a Post article, accusing the offices of Nelson, Murdock and Page of occult practices under the cover of night. “Apparently I burned my hair as an offering to the dark gods.”

“Just throwing it in the trash can seems like such a waste in comparison,” he commented, scrolling down a little. Birdsong drifted in through the cracked window. They’d been tossing the idea of getting it fixed around for a few years, by then, but it never actually happened. It would’ve seemed like a waste of a conversation piece.

“At least we’ve got some notoriety,” Karen said, after a moment. “Back in the early days we would’ve killed for some good old fashioned bullshit coverage.”

“Oh, yeah, we’ve got killer brand recognition these days,” Foggy agreed. The birds were singing, still, high and sweet. It was making him uneasy, and he couldn’t figure out why. He turned back to his desk and started shuffling through the paperwork he’d left there the night before, trying to look busy. They didn’t get a lot of cases, but they got by. There had been a lot of legal precedents set over the last few years, and Foggy had ended up forming half of them pretty much by accident.

It was hard to discuss collecting rent arrears from someone who might have literally disintegrated. Matt had been officially evicted after six months of litigation, mostly conducted via email. Foggy still had nightmares about it, sometimes. He was surrounded by the collected evidence of his best friend’s life, all packed into uniform boxes and stacked in his front room, like a second and worse couch.

Marci wasn’t a big fan, but she’d moved out back in the second year post-Snap. Now she came round most weekends to bitch about work and drink vodka. It was exactly like their friendship had been in college, except for the quality of the vodka. They still slept together from time to time, but Marci had set her boundaries and Foggy respected them.

Anyway, the paperwork was interesting enough. Foggy had been helping with a class action lawsuit against a local manufacturing company with money to burn and a lot of poor Glassdoor reviews. It occupied his time, and he got to spend hours upon hours digging into civil law, the kind of thing which very rarely involved superheroics or vigilantism.

Karen made him a cup of coffee around midday, and touched his shoulder for a second. He jumped.

“I’m heading out for a while,” she said quietly. He looked up at her, meeting her eyes. He couldn’t read her expression. “Meeting Frank, he says something’s going on. I’ll keep you updated.”

Foggy made a vague noise in response. He didn’t like Frank all that much, but Karen was apparently determined to keep in touch with the guy. The door shut behind her and, as usual, he heard her tug on the handle to close it all the way. The lock clicked.

He zoned out for a while after that. His group therapy sessions had helped a little with his grief, but he mostly went for the company. He didn’t handle being on his own very well, anymore. Sounds filtered in from the street outside, car horns honking, pigeons cooing, stuff like that. It helped with the loneliness, but not much else.

The sound of laughter drifted up, after a while. He smiled reflexively, unused to the feeling. “At least someone’s having a good time,” he muttered, and went desk-diving for a witness statement on the hit-and-run case Brett had brought him in for. He wasn’t a public defender, but the occasional pro bono work had become a lot less occasional after everything. It was a public service, kind of, but Foggy was self-aware enough to know he wasn’t doing it for the good karma. It was just - nice, to think Matt might approve of it.

As the afternoon wore on, the noise from outside grew quieter. Foggy felt something like anticipation in the air, a kind of calm before the storm, then snorted quietly. _Wishful thinking, Nelson._

Karen hadn’t come back. He checked his phone and caught up on her texts — there were quite a few built up.

> _carebear_ [14:30]: found frank. hes got some inside info
> 
> _carebear_ [14:45]: not sure what to make of it
> 
> _carebear_ [15:00]: frank left. in pursuit
> 
> _carebear_ [15:30]: caught him!

This one had a selfie attached. Karen was sat on a park bench, her legs planted in Frank’s lap. He looked mutinous, but not like he was actively planning violence.

Foggy really hated that he knew Frank well enough to tell. He still dreamed about finding Matt on that rooftop, sometimes, and even if it hadn’t been Frank it had certainly entrenched Foggy’s already pretty firm dislike of any and all firearms.

Of course, most of his dreams were about the other thing. The obvious thing. It had been pretty distinctive. He woke up with ash beneath his fingers and could never bring himself to turn on the light and make sure it wasn’t real.

It was all that was left of Matt. If Foggy had known that at the time, beneath the frozen shock of it, he might have — he didn’t know. Done something else, probably. Not left it for Karen to find, while he just sat by his desk and stared.

They buried what they could, a few days after. Maggie had found them a patch and a priest ready to perform at short notice. She and Foggy emailed, from time to time, but it was difficult. He kept up with it on the anniversary, sending a story or two from law school, the kind of memory Maggie had sacrificed. She seemed to appreciate them, and not to mind how obviously head-over-heels Foggy was for her son.

It was really hard not to love Matt Murdock. Even, and perhaps especially, when he was dead. Foggy had a lot of practice.

His phone buzzed. Another text from Karen.

> _carebear_ [16:00]: don’t leave the office

Foggy raised his eyebrows.

> **fogster** [16:02]: a guy’s gotta eat, page
> 
> _carebear_ [16:03]: i’m serious. something’s going on. it’s not safe.

Obviously, Foggy was going to do what he was told. He just didn’t have to be _graceful_ about it.

He texted back with a quick thumbs up and slid his phone back into his jacket pocket. His standards of dress had dropped a little since leaving corporate, but he still liked the professional aura a suit jacket gave him, even when he was wearing a Ninja Turtles shirt and an ancient pair of jeans underneath. It made it easier to drink coffee without being paranoid about it dripping everywhere.

It was probably time for a break, he reflected. He hadn’t had lunch, so he ordered some sushi and shut his phone away properly, in his briefcase. The copy of Feet of Clay he’d been working through in his limited spare time welcomed him with open arms.

He made it about five pages before there was a knock at the door.

“Coming!” He shouted, pushing his chair back and knocking a sheaf of paperwork to the floor. “Ah, shit.”

Leaving it for future Foggy to deal with, he made his way to the door, stepping over the weak floorboard and tugging the door open with an attempt at a smile. “Sorry, I was just —”

It was not the delivery guy.

Matt looked just like he had the last time Foggy had seen him, in a plain grey suit and wearing his last pair of glasses. He’d been talking about calling in a new pair when the dust started rising from his shoulders.

Foggy looked down at his hands. His left thumb moved and pressed its nail into the meat of his right palm. It hurt, but not as much as it should’ve done. He frowned.

“Fog?” His voice wavered.

It definitely _sounded_ like Matt. But it couldn’t be Matt, because Matt was dead. It was really inconvenient of him, honestly.

He shook his head. He had a vague idea that he should explain that, but he couldn’t make his mouth work.

Matt took a step forward. His shoe made a sound on the wooden floor. A hallucination probably wouldn’t do that, right?

“Probably not,” said Matt.

Right. So Foggy’s mouth _was_ working, just not the way he wanted it to. Again, super inconvenient. He took a step back, towards Karen’s desk. He gasped in a breath, then couldn’t let it out. He wheezed.

Matt followed him back and put his hands on Foggy’s shoulders. He knew that because he could see Matt’s forearms; he couldn’t feel it. He wheezed again, chest on fire.

“Shit, Foggy,” said Matt, eyes wide behind his glasses. “Breathe out, alright? I’ll count you down, you do it on zero.”

He did, and Foggy did his best to push all the air out, and then he gasped too many times and started the whole fucking cycle again. Matt sat with him — when had they sat down? — and talked him through it, the way he had in law school and after Mrs Cardenas. The way Foggy used to for Matt, actually.

Eventually, his lungs stopped burning. “Fuck,” he croaked. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He blinked a few times, tears blurring his vision, and felt his breath hitch again when Matt came into focus. “Are you — are you really here? Because if this is a dream I’m suing God.”

“Tricky to serve Him all the way up there,” said Matt. He sounded fond, his mouth twisted into a soft smile.

“You’ve got the hookup,” said Foggy. His voice was wet, which kind of cut the humour. Matt’s hands were still on his shoulders. “What’s the point of all the guilt if you can’t bring the big guy in for his day in court?”

Matt didn’t answer for a long moment. He smiled again. “God, Fog. How long has it been?”

“Five years,” said Foggy. He closed his eyes against the look on Matt’s face. “It’s been, uh, hard.”

“I can’t imagine,” he replied, choked. Foggy’s eyes were still closed when Matt moved one hand to rest on the back of Foggy’s neck. “Your hair’s growing out.”

“Yeah,” said Foggy. “My regular barber crumbled under the pressure.” Then he burst into tears.

He really hated crying. Back in elementary he’d cultivated a pretty deserved reputation as the class crybaby and he hadn’t managed to shed it until sophomore year. His final yearbook award had been ‘Most Likely To Have A Nervous Breakdown’, and he’d fought back against _that_ by getting in with the potheads in undergrad and almost flunking all his classes. So he’d mostly broken the habit of sobbing every other day, but that didn’t mean he’d forgotten the bone deep embarrassment he felt every goddamn time.

Through the haze of shame he felt Matt pull him in for a hug, pressing Foggy’s forehead against Matt’s shoulder and running one hand up and down his back in firm strokes. It felt really nice, and also pretty definitely confirmed that whatever this Matt was, he was definitely _there_. He cried for a while longer, great heaving sobs that dragged out of him like shards of glass. It was a long time before he felt stable enough to draw back a little and tap Matt’s shoulder.

“Let the record show that I am smiling like a brave boy,” he said. “Sorry for, uh, laying that all on you.”

“Don’t apologise, Fog. I’ll definitely return the favour sometime.” He leaned back on his heels, rocking a little, and tipped his head to one side, listening. “Your heart sounds better.”

“Uh, good?” Foggy said.

He hadn’t had a chance to look closely at this Matt until now. His suit was more crumpled than he’d thought, his Oxfords smeared with mud. His hands were shaking, minute tremors that travelled from his wrists to his fingertips.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Foggy reached out and took Matt’s left hand between both of his. He was cold from the New York weather, but not unnaturally so. His pulse beat steadily at his wrist. His fingers curled around Foggy’s hand reflexively.

Foggy shivered a little. His head was spinning. 

There was something he'd told himself he would do, if a miracle ever happened.

“Hey, Matt,” he said.

Matt blinked. His eyes were the same brown Foggy remembered. He’d made sure he wouldn’t forget Matt’s face. His wallet had his favourite picture, a selfie he’d made Matt take when they signed the lease on their first office. Matt had been smiling, head tilted towards him. His smile looked just the same as in the picture. “Fog?”

Foggy leaned forward, slowly enough for Matt’s _world on fire_ to register the motion, and kissed him.

They’d kissed once at Columbia, a drunken mistletoe incident that they’d both sworn meant nothing. But Foggy could remember the panicked look in Matt’s eyes afterwards, the one he’d smothered with a laugh and a pat on Foggy’s shoulder. And, of course, it had meant a lot to him. That one had been chaste enough, a dry peck in response to a whole room convinced two boys kissing would be the funniest thing in the world.

This one was not like that at all.

Matt gasped in response, mouth opening under Foggy’s, warm breath ghosting over his lips. He bit down on Matt’s lower lip and felt his fingers clench tight around his hands, nails pressing into skin. Matt pressed forward, crowding Foggy against the desk and cradling his neck with his free hand, thumb brushing behind his ear. His teeth scraped over Foggy’s lip, then, and he felt it in his stomach.

Eventually they had to breathe. Foggy broke away first. Matt pressed their foreheads together and closed his eyes, breath ragged. He’d taken his glasses off, somewhere in there — Foggy had been kind of distracted at the time, so he didn’t remember exactly when.

“Shit,” said Foggy. His voice cracked. “Glad you responded there. Would’ve been awkward otherwise.”

“Mmm,” said Matt. He sounded dazed, mouth twitching at the corners like he was trying to hold in a smile. “Missed you,” he said quietly.

“Yeah,” said Foggy. “Yeah, I missed you too, Matt.”

“Back now, though,” said Matt. He opened his eyes, so wide and so close to Foggy’s that it made his breath catch again. He’d never seen the scars around Matt’s eyes before, the faint lines and rough patches.

He brushed his thumb beneath Matt’s eye, feeling them. He called up the sense memory of Matt’s hands on his face, way back at Columbia, the way it felt to be known in three dimensions.

“Back now,” he agreed.

**Author's Note:**

> and then they leave the big exhausting ridiculous battle in albany or whatever to the other superheros and eat the sushi that foggy ordered. eventually karen turns up and the whole situation is just very embarrassing for everyone involved.
> 
> i have wanted this specific fic to exist since i saw endgame and my brain finally went 'for god's sake rosie just write the fucking thing'. be the change you want to see in the world!
> 
> title is from 'me and my husband' by mitski! the song which kicked me into writing this whole thing in one sitting, no beta, we die like etc
> 
> find me on twitter/tumblr @dotsayers! i have a mattfoggy spiral about four times a year, so feel free to drop in and out.


End file.
